TOO HOT TO HANDLE Page 27

  "You've got to be kidding."

  "No, son, I'm not." Larsen sat beside Mike. "I know this is all a shock, and it's going to take some getting used to."

  Mike laughed. "A shock was seeing you walk through that door. But this … well, seven million bucks in the bank is a hell of a lot more than a shock."

  "Look, why don't you follow me to the house. I can show you around, we can have lunch, and you can take some time to decide what you want. We're pretty hard up for a pulmonologist, but we can give you a few weeks to make a decision."

  Mike stood and looked at the man who fathered him. He was the same height, a bit heavier, but Mike attributed that to age and diet. He probably ate three meals a day. His hair was graying but looked as if it had been the same color as Mike's when he was younger. He looked good for his age. "I could use some time. I … I don't know what to do about the money. I don't feel as if it's mine. I'm sure Becca…"

  "Becca never cared much about the money. Your brother, well, he lived on it, but Becca never has. She lives in a loft apartment in South Philly. I worry about that girl, but she stopped listening to her mother years ago. I don't think she ever listened to me. She's a bit of a free spirit."

  "After our conversation, I'm not surprised."

  "Well, what do you say? Care to join me for lunch?"

  "As long as you understand that my joining you means nothing more than that."

  "Okay. I suppose it's a start." Larsen stood and held out his hand.

  Mike pushed out of his seat and took his father's hand in a firm handshake. "I guess it is."

  "Rebecca Elizabeth Larsen, I insist you return my call."

  Becca had ignored the last five voice mails her mother left and was likely to ignore this one too.

  "I just received a phone call from Janice Hopkins. She said there's word at your father's practice that his love child is being given a position at EHS. This is very serious. Return. My. Call."

  Oh, so Mommy Dearest heard the news. My, my, my, doesn't good news travel fast?

  Becca hit her speed dial. "Hello, Mother, you rang … repeatedly?"

  "You don't care that you're losing seventeen million dollars and change?"

  "Not especially, no." Becca had more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life without her inheritance. She had invested wisely. Her parents forced her to go to college. After learning from mistakes other debs who had lost their inheritances to social climbing men more interested in their trusts than in them or to crooked accountants, she majored in finance and minored in art. Who knew she was both left- and right- brained. As far as her mother was concerned, she was neither.

  "I have it on good authority that your father's lawyer is taking more than half your inheritance and giving it to this bastard child who popped up out of nowhere."

  "Stop it, Mother. That's my brother you're talking about."

  "Your brother is dead."

  "Yes, but Mike is alive and well, and taking his rightful place in the family."

  "Have you seen proof of paternity?"

  "Mother, there is no need for a DNA test. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. He and Chip could have been twins if Chip looked a bit more like Daddy."

  "You're going to allow him to waltz in and take what's rightfully yours?"

  "He's taking what's rightfully his, and as for the estate and the inheritance, he's more than welcome to it."

  "You're not going protest this travesty? You're going to let this bastard from Brooklyn move in and take all I've worked so hard to build for you?"

  "Mother, the only thing you've ever worked hard on was getting your own way and making Daddy miserable. You screwed up, and you lost. Stop this, or you'll lose more than just your marriage and your home. You'll lose me, too."

  "How dare you talk to me that way? I'm only looking out for your best interests."

  "Ha. You've never looked out for anyone but yourself. If you're worried about my money, it's because you have plans for it. What are you going to do, Mother? Embezzle a few million?"

  Becca moved the phone away from her ear before her mother started screaming. She didn't need to hear it. She'd heard it all before. "Good-bye, Mother. I have to go." She hung up the phone. The way she looked at it, if she said good-bye, she wasn't hanging up on her mother, she was just ending a conversation before her mother was ready to. Her problem, not Becca's. But then all the problems between her and both her parents were theirs and not hers. It's a wonder the two didn't get on better.

  "Rebecca, it's your father. Please return my call. It's important."

  "Oh God, not the other one too." Why couldn't she come from a single-parent family? Becca wasn't in the mood to deal with either of her parents today.

  "Okay, listen. In case you're screening your calls, I wanted to tell you that your brother Michael and I are on our way to the house. I've called ahead and asked Madge to prepare lunch. I hope you'll join us. I'd like you to meet Mike … in person."

  He knew she'd spoken to him on the phone? Becca looked at her watch, it would take forty-five minutes to get there, and she needed to change. What did one wear to meet her long lost brother?

  Becca threw riding tights, boots, a T-shirt, and a hard hat into a duffel bag. It had been a long time since she'd been home; she wasn't going to miss an opportunity to ride Big Red. Maybe after a swim in the pool, she'd ride down to the pond and see how everyone was doing.

  She chose her clothes wisely—a bikini, matching shorts, and a top. Of course, the top wasn't quite long enough to cover the tat or the belly-button ring. Daddy would likely have a coronary, but not in front of the new heir. Hmm. That might actually be fun.

  Mike followed Larsen west on the main drag, which ran parallel to the train tracks, hence the name, the Main Line. They turned onto a side street and drove through horse country. Houses the likes of which he'd only seen in the Hamptons dotted the countryside. Old stone mansions with matching stone barns that were bigger than his apartment building.

  He'd entered an alternate universe. Mike left Coney Island and his home with its perpetual scent of kraut and sausage, and came here to a land where people were actually named Biff and Bitsy. Where men wear Lilly Pulitzer pants and paid big bucks to look like one of the kids in The Sound of Music, running around in clothes made of old curtains—and not for the laughs either. This alone was proof positive that money wasn't indicative of brains or taste.

  Larsen signaled a turn, drove through the opening in a stone fence, past what looked like an old-fashioned gatehouse. Mike wondered where Larsen's house was. Right now, all he saw was a big stone barn, which was even larger than the others he'd seen along the way. He followed Larsen's BMW closely through the gate, looking for a street sign. There was none.

  About a mile down the road, they passed several houses, greenhouses, and a lake. Up ahead looked like a country club. It was a massive old mansion, beautifully kept. Mike pulled in to the circular drive and parked behind Larsen's car. When his father jumped out, Mike followed suit. "I thought we were going to your house."

  Larsen turned and gestured to the mansion. "This is the house. The estate is on three hundred eighty-seven acres. There are seven cottages, three stables, three industrial-size greenhouses, a pool, tennis courts, a stocked pond, and a live trout stream. I can give you a tour later if you'd like."

  "This"—Mike pointed to the four-story mansion—"is your house?"

  "Yes."

  "I've always known where you lived, and Mum said you were from a wealthy family, but I never imagined anything like this."

  "Your mother told you about me?"

  "She wanted me to know where you were in case I ever needed or wanted to contact you." Mike shrugged and dropped that subject.

  "Well." Larsen cleared his throat. "Shall we go in?"

  Mike nodded and walked beside Larsen up the steps to the front door. It was a massive hand-carved door with a huge knocker, and it opened before Larsen even reached for the doorknob.


  A woman of indeterminate age welcomed them. She smiled as they stepped into the cool foyer, and after getting a look at Mike, she paled.

  Larsen took her arm to steady her. "Elaine, this is Dr. Michael Flynn, my son."

  "Mike, Elaine Rogers runs the household. She's in charge of everyone and everything on the estate, including me."

  Elaine gathered her bearings quickly. "It's wonderful to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you, too." Mike shook her hand and tried to get a handle on the fact that he'd been introduced as Larsen's son. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but from the look on the woman's face—the same look he remembered Annabelle wearing the first time they'd met—he figured it was unavoidable.

  She looked from Mike to Larsen. "Madge has lunch waiting for you in the family dining room."

  "Thank you." Larsen put his hand on Mike's shoulder. "I called and invited Rebecca to join us. I thought you'd enjoy meeting her. The girl never answers her phone so I don't know if she got the message or not."

  Mike took in the huge foyer. The rose-colored marble covered the floor and a grand, curved staircase. Still digesting it all, he looked at his watch. "I'm going to have to leave in a couple of hours. I'm on call tonight." He was really looking forward to working. At least there, he'd be so busy, he wouldn't have time to think about Larsen, Becca, or Annabelle and Chip.

  A topless, candy-apple red BMW Roadster squealed to a stop before they closed the front door. Mike looked from the driver, with her wind-whipped blonde hair, wide smile, and challenging raised eyebrow to Larsen, who looked as if he'd been out in the sun too long.

  Tension anyone?

  At that point, introductions were unnecessary. Mike recognized his sister from a picture Annabelle kept on her dresser of Becca and her together.

  Becca grabbed a hold of the top of the windscreen, stood, and jumped from the car. She certainly knew how to make an entrance. No wonder Annabelle loved her so much. Mike tried to smile as the pain slammed into him again. He'd caught himself reaching for the phone a hundred times since he'd walked out her door. Sharing things with Annabelle had become second nature, along with sleeping with her, thinking about her, worrying about her, and loving her. He wanted to ask Becca if she'd heard from Annabelle, but they hadn't even been introduced yet.

  "Mike," Larsen said. "This is Becca, my daughter."

  What do you do when you meet your sister for the first time? Shake hands? "Hello."

  Becca stood in front of him, wearing board shorts low on her hips, a tank top, the hem of which missed the waistband of her shorts by about four inches, and flip-flops. She was tall, lanky, and beautiful. She stared at him with green eyes shot with gold, a bit of copper, and a whole lot of curiosity. She had some amazing eyes, and right now, they were taking his measure.

  "I'm not sure whether to say welcome to the family or tell you to run like hell."

  "Rebecca, that's enough."

  "I get the feeling that both are equally heartfelt."

  "Annabelle said I'd like you. So, how are you feeling today?"

  He couldn't help but stare. He'd seen almost the same eyes on Chip's painting, but Mike remembered that Chip had one eye that was half green and half brown.

  "I'll survive. Have you talked to Annabelle?"

  Larsen's face turned even redder. Mike wondered if he had blood pressure problems.

  The old man swallowed hard. "I thought you were no longer seeing that…"

  "Watch yourself, Daddy. You wouldn't want Mike here to know how badly you treated the woman he loves."

  "I'm just worried about her. I need to know she's all right."

  "What do you think she's going to do, Mike? Jump off the Brooklyn Bridge? If that's all you're worried about, don't bother. She's been through tougher things than having her heart broken by you. This is a walk in the park compared to watching the only other man she ever loved die."

  Larsen butted in. "She was after Chip's money. Just like she's after Mike's."

  Mike laughed. "I don't have any money."

  "Yes, you do … or you will. Which is exactly why she got her hooks into you early."

  "That's ridiculous. She never mentioned a word about Chip—at least not unless she was drugged."

  "So, she has a drug problem, too? It's not surprising."

  Mike was beginning to really dislike Larsen. "She hurt her ankle and was on prescription painkillers. What is it with you? The only thing Annabelle is guilty of is loving Chip and not me. It's a textbook case of transference. She probably doesn't even know she's doing it."

  Becca laughed. "I thought you were a pulmonologist. I guess you're a shrink now, too? You spend a week's rotation in the psych ward during med school, and all of a sudden you're Dr. Freud? You wouldn't know transference if it bit you in the ass."

  "Yeah, and how the hell do you know?"

  "Rebecca, Chip, that's enough. Both of you."

  The old man looked from Becca to Mike. Becca paled and so did Larsen and Elaine. Mike couldn't believe this was happening again. "I … I have to go."

  "Mike. I'm sorry. It was a slip of the tongue."

  "No, I'm sorry. I can't do this right now. I've had a hard couple of days, and I have to get back to work anyway. I need some time."

  Becca grabbed his arm. "Mike, wait."

  "No. I need to go."

  "Not while you're upset."

  "Becca, I've been upset since yesterday. I'm fine. I'm a doctor, for God's sake. I can handle it."

  Becca looked at her father pleadingly.

  Larsen deflated like a balloon a week after the party. "I'm sorry, Mike. But seeing you and Rebecca fighting … just like she and Chip always did … well. I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, so am I." Mike turned to leave.

  Larsen touched his shoulder, and he stopped. "Michael, drive safely."

  He nodded, opened the heavy door, and walked out into the sunshine. Becca followed close behind.

  "So, you're running away again."

  Mike had had it. He was pissed, and she just pushed the wrong button. "I don't need you or anyone telling me how to run my life. I've done fine without you and your father for thirty-two years. I'll do fine without you now."

  Becca smiled, walked right up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hugged him. "I'm still glad I found you. Or that Annabelle found you. Whether you want to admit it or not, you're my brother, and I love you. Daddy does too, probably more than you could even imagine. After all, you're the product of the love of his life. You might as well get used to our family. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere, and you know what? Neither is Annabelle. Once you get over your bad self and your wounded ego, you'll see she loves you, too."

  Mike's eyes stung. He wanted to throw her off him, but he couldn't. Nor could he ignore what she said.

  He stepped back, and Becca let him go. Larsen and Becca watched him from the steps. He gave them a nod, got in, and drove around the circle going out the same way he'd come in. He raced toward the entrance of the estate, toward freedom. He drove down the driveway, past the gatehouse, through the opening in the stone fence, and off the property, but he didn't feel any less trapped.

  Chapter 18

  "What truck ran over you?"

  Annabelle looked up from the sketch pad she scribbled on and saw Ben's eyes scrunched up and his lips pressed together. He made himself at home and sat on her desk.

  "I thought you went to the Hamptons with Dr. Mike for the weekend?"

  "I did."

  "Are you sick?"

  "No."

  "Am I going to get more than a two-word answer?"

  "Mike and I broke up. Are you happy?"

  "Not if you aren't. I'm sorry."

  She felt the tears coming again. "I can't talk about this." Shit. She reached for a tissue and tried desperately to stop embarrassing herself.

  "You're really hung up on him, aren't you?"

  "Gee, whatever gave you that idea?"

  "You're drawing him. I figure
d it must be love to get you to sketch anything but plans for a show."

  "Oh God! You're right. I didn't realize … I was just making dots … and then—"

  "What are you going to do?"

  "About what?"

  "About Mike."

  "Nothing. What's there to do? Some things aren't meant to be. Mike and I are a perfect example."

  "You sound sure of that."

  "I am."

  "There's nothing he could say to get you back?"

  "He wouldn't want me back. Even if he did, I can't see it ever working out. I can't be what he needs."

  "He might just need you."

  "No. He doesn't. He has everything he needs now. I talked to Becca. She told me that his father offered him a job at this great practice—he has money, a family, a fabulous career—everything he's ever wanted."

  Ben picked up a paperweight and tossed it from hand to hand. "He doesn't have everything he ever wanted. From what I saw, he wanted you."

  "He doesn't want me now. Besides, even if he did, I would come between him and his family, and I'm not going there. I never want to put myself in that position again."

  "You're sure of that?"

  "Positive."

  "Okay, then. Marry me."

  Annabelle burst out laughing. By the time she realized Ben wasn't laughing, she had tears running down her cheeks. "You're kidding, right? Ben, tell me you're kidding."

  His usual smiling face and twinkling eyes were gone. He shook his head. His folded arms and posture didn't shout levity.

  "You're serious?"

  Ben didn't smile, he didn't frown, he just looked grim.

  Annabelle held up her hand. "Hold on, don't tell me Mike was right, that you've been secretly lusting after me. I mean, I know I don't have such a great track record with men, but I think I would have noticed if you ever looked at me like—"

  "Mike? Like I want to undress you with my eyes?"

  "Well, I wouldn't have put it that way, but yeah."

  "Would you accept my proposal if I told you I find you attractive?"

  "Whoa. You find me attractive? Since when?"

  "Annabelle. You're a beautiful woman. You know that. I've never thought about you in that way. Not seriously, at least."